RDR: Tell 'Em Red Jack Was Here
by O.G. Green
Summary: Jack Marston teams up with an aging pistolero and a fiery, female manhunter to recover a fortune in stolen gold...
1. Chapter 1

Tell 'Em Red Jack Was Here…

by O.G. Green

Chuparosa, Mexico

1914

Jack Marston was enjoying a fine meal of tortilla soup and chicken fajitas when Death swaggered into the cantina. According to the brass clock above the bar, it was high noon.

The El Gato Negro was very crowded at lunchtime. Both the local vaqueros and the ranch hands from across the border enjoyed spending their money here. The food was excellent, the booze even better, all served by the most beautiful senoritas here in the Sonoran desert. It was also supposed to be a place where an outlaw like himself could relax without fear of being arrested or killed. His hand slowly made its way to the nickel-plated, ivory-gripped .41 caliber revolver he kept as a belly gun.

As Marston covered his revolver with a towel, he watched the newcomer sidle up to the bar. Jack took note of the hand-tooled Justin boots, tan canvas pants, brown pullover shirt, and the putty-colored flat-crowned hat with a wide brim. Two things caught his interest about this stranger. First was the Randall Special, a cut-down Winchester rifle that sat in a skeleton holster along the thigh. Second, was the dirty blonde hair that definitely came with a familiar face. They had crossed a trail or two around Gaptooth Ridge. There were a number of female manhunters taking down bounties but none more dangerous than Nancy "Shotgun Anne" Svensson. Even Pa had shot it out with her around Tall Trees some years back and almost didn't survive the encounter.

Jack tried to recall what his Pa told him about this hellion. Shotgun Anne made her rep in Armadillo taking out Tularosa Bill Dahlgren and a number of the Bollard Twins gang with nothing more than a sawed-off Parker 12-gauge. Instead of bringing a hand back, she usually clipped the men's balls to collect her bounties. Jack even heard she tracked a leader from the Sociedad de Bandidos to the Ojo de Diablo, knifed his bodyguards, and returned him across the border. Ms. Svensson would not be open to bribery or intimidation. Jack Marston was thinking of how to escape her notice when he felt the cold muzzle of a Colt .45 automatic being pressed into his ear.

"Buenos Tardes, mi amigo. I've go the bulge on 'ya Jack. You wouldn't want to kill an 'ol friend, now, would 'ya?"

Looking to his right, Jack saw an older man in his forties dressed in a black sack coat and trousers. Cinched around the man's waist was a Buscadero-style catridge belt that held a double-action Smith & Wesson revolver in a double-loop holster. When his eyes met the other man's face, Jack actually smiled.

"Howdy to you too, Uncle Frank. If you wanted to see Pa, you're a few years too late. The gov't put him down…"

Frank "Sin-Killer" Kerr kept the pistol steady as he lowered himself into a chair next to Jack. Kerr was an ace-high shootist and curly wolf who has out-smarted both the U.S. Marshals and the Mexican Army. He also used to ride with both Pa and Bill Williamson in robbing banks along the Rio Grande. Legend had it that both Frank Kerr and Langdon Ricketts were on opposite sides of the Lincoln County War in New Mexico. These thoughts raced inside Jack's mind as Frank raised a glass of whiskey towards Shotgun Anne who returned the salute.

"I read about that massacre in the papers. Heard also that you caught up with that sonuvabitch Ross. Bully for you, Jack. I always knew you had it in you to walk the owlhoot trail. Before I get ahead of myself, why don't you hand over that hog-leg underneath the towel so we can have us a proper conversation." Frank smiled at the younger outlaw.

"And if I refuse?" Jack tightened his grip on the revolver.

Before Frank could answer, the batwing doors of the cantina slammed inward as gray uniformed Federales marched in with guns drawn. They carried Winchester repeaters and Colt revolvers. Leading them was a tan uniformed officer, Captain Jorge Perez. Frank grimaced at this interruption. He winked once at Shotgun Anne who gulped down another shot of tequila. Her hand rested on the snaps of the skeleton holster. Jack just wondered what else could go wrong on an otherwise peaceful day. Frank slid the .45 automatic underneath the table.

"You want to skeedadle out of here, boy? Or take that final trip to the bone orchard?", hissed Frank.

"I want to see if you still got the sand to fight like Kilkenny cats, Uncle Frank. Then we can wind up our business later.", snarled Jack.

Captain Perez had a wanted dodger in his gloved hand as he examined the faces in the room. The rest of the Federales spread out taking positions by the entrance and back exit. There were several nervous men who breathed a sigh of relief as the Federale captain strode over to the table where the gringos sat. He gave the gringos a feral smile.

"It has come to my attention that I had two esteemed guests in my district. 'Red' Jack Marston and 'Sin-Killer' Kerr. Muy bueno, amigos! You will make me a very rich man. Now.." Captain Perez never finished his sentence. A bone-handled throwing knife had punctured his throat.

Frank Kerr upturned the table as bullets smacked into the wood. He pulled the trigger twice and was rewarded with the sight of a federale slumping against the wall, a trail of blood sliding down. He shot another federale trying to draw a bead on Jack from the entrance.

Jack Marston grabbed the nearest federale and blew the man's hat clean off with his .41 caliber revolver. Bits of bone and gristle splashed onto the bar behind him. He snatched up his Mauser, then emptied his 10-shot magazine into a trio of federales grouped by the bar. Their spasming and jerking bodies dropped to the floor like so much cordwood. More blood seeped onto the adobe floor.

After skewering Captain Perez with the throwing knife, Shotgun Anne jacked a round into her Randall Special and shot another federale in the chest. The blonde manhunter spun, jacked the lever again, and blew out the brains of a second federale. She was about to shoot again when a vicious butt-stroke clipped her head. The federale stomped on the Randall Special pinning it to the floor. He gave a toothy grin towards Shotgun Anne as he leveled his Winchester carbine. That smile got vaporized as Shotgun Anne pulled her sawn-off 12gauge Parker out and squeezed both triggers. She ran her fingers alongside her head to make sure nothing was amiss.

"You okay, Anne? That sonuvabitch clipped 'ya pretty good.", asked a concerned Frank.

"I'm still breathing ain't I? We're gonna have us some Rocky Mountain oysters, Tex-Mex style! Yee-hah!", shouted Anne as she pulled out a stag-handled skinning knife.

Red Jack Marston shook his head as he reloaded both his belly gun and his Mauser. Whatever his Uncle Frank had to say to him, it had better be damned important...


	2. Chapter 2

Perdido, Mexico

Two miles from the Ramita de la Baya bridge

Six hours later…

"Good God Almighty!" exclaimed Jack, "Is that a damned machine gun?"

Frank Kerr swallowed some water from a canvas-covered canteen as the younger fugitive groused some more about their chances of safely crossing over onto American soil. Jack was observing the Mexican Army piling up sandbags and mounting a .303 caliber Vickers machine gun onto its tripod through his binoculars. Shotgun Anne kept watch on their back trail, a .45-70 Remington rolling block rifle cradled in her arms. They had rode hard and fast to escape pursuit from the local garrison only to find the bridge occupied by more government troops. Shooting a few no-name privates was one thing; killing a popular commander like Captain Perez wouldn't go unavenged.

"Fer Chrissakes, Jack! Hobble yer lip already! Your Pa and I have been in plenty of worse scrapes than this. We kicked up a row in a Chuparosa; you think Perez's men are gonna throw up the sponge? They're not going to back down and neither are we."

Kerr unfolded a map he took from his saddlebags. He compared the landmarks in the immediate area and jotted down some notes with a pencil. He motioned for Jack to come over and look at the map. Grumpily, the younger man crab-walked along the ridge to see what the elder mal hombre wanted to show him.

"I agree with you, son. That machine gun is going to be a major problem. But it's not one that can't be defeated without a little elbow grease and some cow sense. Now, here's how we're gonna dry-gulch those mudsills…"

When the moon rose over the horizon, Jack and Shotgun Anne low crawled over rocks and around cactus towards the border checkpoint. 'Ol Sin-Killer was right, Jack thought to himself. Without any leadership, these federales were all balled up. The machine gun crew lay asleep next to the Vickers, their snores heard across the San Luis River. The remaining troops were either drinking home-brewed tequila or playing five-finger fillet on top of a wooden crate. He slid out a horn-handled push knife as he arrived where the Vickers was emplaced. Shotgun Anne held a Sheffield Bowie by its bone handle, a she-wolf ready to pounce on her prey. Jack imitated an owl's hoot letting both Sin-Killer Kerr and Shotgun Anne he was ready for action.

Jack cupped the mouth and nose of the man in front of him and drove the push knife into his victim's neck. He held onto the dying federale's body until it stopped thrashing around. For good measure, he snapped the neck.

Shotgun Anne slid on top of another federale and plunged the Sheffield Bowie's 9 ½" blade into his chest. Her victim's eyes popped open and the last thing he saw was the vicious smile of a blonde Valkyrie claiming his worthless soul as payment. She was about to knife the other gunner when the sound of hoof beats fast approaching stayed her hand. Shotgun Anne swore silently to herself as a group of twenty riders reined in their horses by the group playing five-finger fillet.

Frank Kerr silently cursed this new turn of events. He took out the Remington and sighted the rifle on the group's leader.

"What are you eediots doing?"

Lieutenant Rafael Munoz was incensed by the sloppiness of these yokels. The standards of the Mexican Army must be at an all time low if the best we can muster are drunks and gamblers. No wonder the country is plagued by banditry and corruption. Even the gringos use our land as their own personal outhouse. It angered the army officer to no end. His family had fought the gringos in the Mexican-American War and he fought alongside Abraham Reyes to bring a better future to these peasants. Yet, they couldn't even properly man a border checkpoint. Ay Carumba!

Jack Marston didn't like how the odds were stacking up. With these new arrivals, instead of ten hostiles there was now thirty of 'em. If they waited any longer, they wouldn't be going home at all. He sheathed his push knife and pulled out his Mauser.

As Lieutenant Munoz continued to berate the sentries, Shotgun Anne took out her Randall Special and slowly jacked in a round. She was ready to let fly with the cut-down Winchester but needed to see how this fandango was going to play out. Then she saw the barrel.

A bright red barrel of TNT.

She waved at Jack and pointed towards the explosive. He nodded his understanding and cocked the Mauser. Shotgun Anne gave him a wink then shot the barrel dead-on. The explosion took everyone by surprise. Gunfire erupted all over the checkpoint. The crack of Winchester repeaters, the pop-pop-pop of automatic pistols and revolvers, and the angry bark of the Vickers sounded in the night.

Frank squeezed the trigger on the Remington rolling block and felt the stock ram his shoulder. The .45-70 bullet struck Lieutenant Munoz in the chest and knocked him out of the saddle. His horse, a beautiful Hungarian Half-Bred mare, raced off into the countryside as shots ricocheted off rocks and the bridge. The elder outlaw placed the Remington in a saddle boot, grabbed the reins of his partners' horses, and urged his own mount into a gallop.

Meanwhile, Jack shot another federale trying to bayonet him as he lunged towards the machine gun. The Mauser popped three times in quick succession laying waste to the other man's uniform. Bright, red splotches appeared on the soldier's chest and face. Jack swiftly holstered the Mauser and pulled the charging handle on the Vickers. Satisfied that the 250-round canvas belt was in place, Jack aimed the heavy weapon at the federales and fired.

The muzzle flash and rat-tat-tat whine of the Vickers signaled doom for the hapless federales. The bullets chewed up flesh, tore through uniforms, and shattered bone as Jack raked the machine gun back and forth throughout the checkpoint. The memory of his father, John, butchered like a stray dog increased his fury. He continued to press the trigger long after the canvas belt was empty. All around the checkpoint were dying horses and men. It was a slaughter…

When Frank arrived with their horses, Jack was sharing a bottle of tequila with Shotgun Anne. He passed over the bottle to his Uncle Frank who took a drink himself. There wasn't anything else to be said as the outlaws crossed back into the United States. They had cheated Death once again.


End file.
